


saddle up my horse and ride into the city

by vaudelin



Series: supernatural codas [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Castiel, Cowboy Hats, Cowgirl Position, Dean Winchester Has a Cowboy Kink, Episode: s13e06 Tombstone, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 04:23:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12697278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaudelin/pseuds/vaudelin
Summary: Pulling Cas between his legs, Dean glances up at him with as much sincerity as he can muster. “You look good today, dude. Really good.”The small smile Cas gives suits him well. “I know how you enjoy this sort of thing.”





	saddle up my horse and ride into the city

**Author's Note:**

> me, chanting at [set pics](https://twitter.com/SuperWiki/status/929099001651011584): cowboys cowboys cowboys cowboys coWBO—
> 
> [title from [big & rich](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qt0_oPPK6eA)]

The moment the motel doors swing closed, Dean drops his bags and faceplants onto a chuckwagon bed. The comforter is soft beneath his cheek, the room quiet and clean and so ostentatiously western-themed that Dean couldn’t pass it up. He paid in cash even though it was beyond their usual price range, but the past few days have been such a dream that Dean figures they could splurge on a full suite.

Cas is back. He’s back, and they’re on a cowboy case together.

It doesn’t get much better than that.

Cas pads quietly around the room, hauling through the saloon doors in preparation for the night. The curtains in the kitchen sling shut, though the suite doesn’t cool any until the air conditioner kicks in. Cas remains disheveled when he comes back, but he’s not pouring sweat like Dean has been all day. Really, even though he was dead, Cas looks to be in better shape than Dean’s ever seen him.

Maybe it has to do with the change in attire; Dean convinced Cas to swap out his suit for the sake of the case, cajoling until Cas relented. Just for the case. Just a different cut, something that fit his hips and buttoned crisply at the waist. Dean even paired it with a pale straw stetson, which Cas seemed incapable of tilting properly atop his head.

Of course, Cas ruined the whole look anyway by promptly putting on his baggy trench coat. But still. Cas looks good, trench coat be damned. Hard to believe hardly a week ago Dean had been ready to let Death take him, thinking he’d never get the chance to have this again.

With the bedroom enveloped in cozy half-light, the only sounds the A/C and Cas’ quiet shuffling, Dean pushes himself upright. The collar of his shirt unsticks from his neck, uncomfortably damp. His stetson drops off beside him on the bed. Dean rolls his shoulders. His jacket sloughs off still looking like him, steamed into shape by the sweat of the day.

Dean toes at his boots until they thump down between the chuckwagon wheels. It’s been a long day to wear riding boots, driving around the plains with sun and sweat stinging his eyes, but Dean can’t bring himself to complain. He’s happy in a way he hasn’t been in ages.

“You’re humming again,” Cas tells him, bowed over the bag on his bed. His trenchcoat is off, draped over the end of his bed. His shoes and trousers are pooled on the ground beneath him, the tails of his dress shirt hanging down over his bare legs. “What song is that?”

“Just one from the radio.” Dean leans back, enjoying the view. Sweaty and tired but living his best life, watching Cas undress.

Cas tilts his head in that familiar way. “What’s so funny?”

Dean shakes his head, though his grin can’t be shook. “Not funny. Just… happy. It’s been a real good day.”

Cas raises a brow. “We’ve hardly made any headway, and from the sound of Sam’s call neither has he. We spent the day chasing fruitless leads, dressed in ill-fitting garments—”

“I’m sorry, _ill-fitting_?”

“Your heels are blistered,” Cas says simply. He tips off the straw stetson, spinning it by the brim. “This ridiculous hat doesn’t even fit.” He drops the hat to the bed and resumes removing his tie.

“It does fit,” Dean argues, “you’re just doing it wrong.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Alright, so it doesn’t fit. “The hat’s an important part of the ensemble,” Dean grumbles. Cas gives a look that could be considered longsuffering, if you’ve known him long enough—which Dean has. “So you’d really let me go out there, being the only one wearing one?”

“Yes.”

Dean sighs. Cas crosses in front of him so Dean holds out an arm to stop him, tugging Cas back from his bed. No need for him to dress just yet.

Pulling Cas between his legs, Dean glances up at him with as much sincerity as he can muster. “You look good today, dude. Really good.”

The small smile Cas gives suits him well. “I know how you enjoy this sort of thing.” He glances around the room.

“Yeah, well. Thank you for playing along.” Dean runs his hands up Cas’ sides, under the loose tails of his shirt. Cas leans in, partly placated. Dean takes his invitation and tilts his chin up for a kiss.

Their mouths touch. Cas gives a closed-throated sigh that rumbles against Dean’s lips. His hands cup around Dean’s neck, warm and steady, ruffling his cropped hair. Cas takes his time touching Dean, thumbing behind his ears, sliding his hands down his chest to the vee of his hips. Dean hitches, legs spreading on instinct, releasing Cas from where he holds him with his knees.

Cas runs a flat hand over Dean’s groin, warm and wide, pressing slightly. His nails scratch along the zipper. Dean rucks up, just a little, just enough to chase the pressure Cas is teasing that he’ll give. He pushes Cas’ hand into his erection, moaning as Cas breaks the kiss.

Dean stares up at Cas beneath his lashes. “Put the hat back on,” he mumbles.

Cas leans into him, fitted tightly between bow legs. “I thought the point of this was to get undressed.”

Dean tugs at the loose ends of Cas’ tie, dragging him back in. He works his way out of his trousers, stripping quickly when Cas steps back to retrieve the hat from where it’s fallen off the bed.

Cas climbs onto Dean with his own brown stetson in hand. He tugs the hat onto Dean’s head and, circling his hips, bows under the brim for a kiss. “In this circumstance, do you prefer to play the rancher or the domesticated livestock?”

Dean nearly bites Cas’ lip. “Is that a joke?”

Cas settles his weight atop Dean’s lap. “I’m remarking on the ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’ rhetoric you were humming earlier. You’ve been so adamant on authenticity for this case, I only thought to consider—”

“Shut up and ride me,” Dean says, kissing him.

“Yeehaw,” Cas deadpans.

Cas slides open on a slick stretch of fingers. Dean takes his time, enjoying the dirty press of tongue Cas gives each time Dean rubs him deep. Cas busies his hands by removing Dean’s clothes, sliding open the bolo tie, unbuttoning the shirt. Running his fingers over the embroidered yoke before pushing the shirt down Dean’s arms. Dean struggles to undress him in the same way.

Once naked, Cas takes the stetson back from Dean, pushing it back on his brow while pressing Dean down. He rises up onto his knees, positioning himself over Dean’s hips. He holds the hat in place as he sinks down.

Dean’s thankful for the bed beneath him, catching his collapse. Cas stretches around him, warm and wet and tight. He begins swivelling his hips once Dean’s sank the full way in, punching a guttered groan out from Dean. His eyes roll and his breath hitches; Cas squeezes his knees, spurring Dean’s sides. Dean grips white at those thick thighs and plants his heels, meeting Cas’ sinful circling with his own bucking hips.

The pace they set is loose and lazy. Cas leans back on one arm, squeezing Dean’s knee, his torso moving in relentless, sinuous waves. His head bows back, hand yet planted atop that hat, the long column of his throat exposed.

Jesus, he’s good. Might even be a natural, at this pace. Dean groans his name; Cas stares out from under the brim _just so_ , and suddenly Dean’s bucking harder, on the cusp of losing control.

Those damn eyes. That five o’clock shadow. Cas is made for wildness like this.

Dean grabs at his hips, forcing Cas down, but Cas bucks back. He leans in, pins Dean atop the bed. He runs his fingertips down Dean’s sides, nickering these soft little noises meant to gentle him. “Easy, boy. Easy,” he mouths, right against Dean’s neck.

“Fuck off,” Dean grits, sitting up just to spite him. He settles Cas roughly atop his hips.

Cas rumbles a laugh, one that gives way to a sigh as Dean nips roughly at his throat. He throws an arm around Dean’s shoulders, succumbing to Dean’s sloppy, savage pace. Dean takes up his weight and Cas starts stroking himself, riding Dean’s dick for all it’s worth.

Cas is gorgeous in this half-light, his hair a beautiful brown shade. Dean runs a hand through it, knocking the brim astray. Cas starts getting breathier, a low sigh of Dean’s name spurring out between his grunts and gasps. He grinds down, erratic, so Dean gathers him up tight and starts pistoning hard, rocking them together at the chest. Cas slides a hand to the nape of Dean’s neck, reeling him in. His fist pumps between them, bumping Dean’s stomach on the upstroke while Dean grips along his back.

Dean sets his mouth against the thunder rolling through Cas, teeth grazing tendon, his breath pooling against Cas’ neck. Cas is close, his breaths quavering against Dean’s ear. He clutches more desperately at Dean, so Dean pounds him down a final time and comes in short staccato gasps. Cas clamps his legs and spills hot between them, his hips jerking Dean through the dregs of his climax.

Dean falls back, breathing heavy. He’s not sure where the stetson went.

Though Cas props himself up on shaky arms, his grin is smug and steady. “Satisfied, pardner?”

Dean snorts and bucks Cas over to the side, throwing Cas onto his back and collapsing on top of him.

Cas’ chest is warm and soothing beneath Dean’s wandering fingers. He rubs at Dean’s back, waiting until Dean glances up at him before sticking the hat over his face. Dean pushes it out of his line of vision. He sets his chin onto Cas’ sternum, following the rise and fall of his breaths.

“So that was on the bucket list.” Dean plants his ear atop Cas’ gravelly laugh, just savouring its subtle shake. His fingers trail over his lower ribs, feeling out the place where Cas had been run through by the angel blade. Not even a scar remains.

“It’s as they say,” Cas tells him, curling his hand over Dean’s, stilling him. “If you climb in the saddle, be ready for the ride.”

Dean groans, burying his face. “You’re the worst.”

“Oh? I thought you enjoyed this.”

“Unfortunately.” Dean hides his smile with a kiss. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> also on [tumblr](https://vaudelin.tumblr.com/post/167396604023/saddle-up-my-horse-and-ride-into-the-city-nsfw).


End file.
